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The Challenge of South America's Populist Left

The Challenge of South America's Populist Left

by

Anastasia Moloney

Just over a decade ago, a sea of supporters dressed in red and
lining the streets of Caracas celebrated Hugo Chávez's landslide
election victory in Venezuela, marking a watershed in the Latin
American political landscape and signaling the emergence of the
so-called populist left in the region. Chávez was subsequently followed
by a wave of left-wing leaders elected across the continent -- Lula in
Brazil (2002), Néstor Kirchner in Argentina (2003), Tabaré Vázquez in
Uruguay (2004), Evo Morales in Bolivia (2005), and a year later
Michelle Bachelet in Chile and Rafael Correa in Ecuador -- leaving
roughly 75 per cent of South America's 382 million inhabitants living
under a leftist government.

While these leaders share some
common characteristics, there are vast differences between them. Chávez
and Bachelet, for instance, are worlds apart, reflecting what Jorge
Casteñada, an academic and former foreign minister of Mexico, described
two years ago in a Foreign Affairs article as two distinguishable Latin
American lefts. One of them, characterized by Chile and Brazil and
referred to alternately as social democrats, the moderate left, and
sometimes the soft left, is "modern, open-minded, reformist, and
internationalist." By contrast, Castañeda argued, the other left,
exemplified by Chávez, Morales and Correa, is "born of the great
tradition of Latin American populism," and is "nationalist, strident,
and close-minded."

Nevertheless, the current tide of left-wing
leaders shares a historical context. First, their rise can be seen as a
backlash to the economic neoliberalism adopted across Latin America
during the 1980s. Forming part of the so-called Washington consensus,
neoliberal policies emphasized free-market reforms, the privatization
of state industries, trade liberalization such as the North American
Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) and deregulation as key ways to advance
development and prosperity. Neoliberalism was subsequently blamed by
some for the region's poor economic growth, the widening gap between
rich and poor, currency devaluation and chronic debt crises such as
that experienced by Argentina in 2001.

The neoliberal policies
prescribed by the World Bank and International Monetary Fund also came
with tough restructuring and fiscal adjustments that often included
deep and politically unpopular cuts in social spending. Leftist parties
offering alternatives to neoliberalism campaigned on the mantra of
social reform, and gained increasing resonance and support among the
marginalized poor. As such, the rise of the left can also be seen as an
inevitable and natural shift, responding to the region's lack of social
mobility and inequality that, over the course of decades, traditional
ruling parties had failed to address and that neoliberalism had
exacerbated.

In Venezuela, Chávez's call for a Bolivarian
revolution as an alternative to neoliberalism had great appeal among
the urban poor. By 1998, after several years of declining oil prices,
the Venezuelan economy was on the brink of collapse. Chávez exploited
the disenchantment felt towards Venezuela's ruling elites, who were
seen to be out of touch, corrupt and agents of U.S.-advocated
free-market reforms. He projected a genuine concern for the plight of
the poor and attacked the privatization of industries controlled by the
white oligarchy, blaming them for confiscating oil profits that, he
argued, rightfully belonged to the people.

In many ways,
Chávez's message harks back to the days of good old-fashioned populism
-- a demagogic leader promising to redistribute the nation's wealth to
the poor. It's a tradition that has always been present in Latin
American politics, with Juan Perón's appeal to the urban working class
in Argentina in the 1940s and Lazaro Cardenas' defense of poor farmers
in Mexico in the 1930s just two examples.

The end of the Cold
War also played a role in the resurgence of the Latin America's left.
According to Castañeda, the fall of the Soviet bloc helped remove the
"geopolitical stigma" from the left, allowing leftist ideologies to be
judged in their own right, rather than in association with revolution
and subservience to the Soviet model.

The strengthening of
democratic processes after years of dictatorship in some Latin American
countries combined with the gradual rise of a more educated electorate,
allowing the poor to become more assertive at the ballot box in support
of left-leaning candidates who best represented and defended their
interests. At the same time, the various currents of the left also
broadened their political agendas, widening their traditional, largely
trade unionist base of support to include the unemployed, feminists,
grassroots student groups and landless rural workers.

In
Bolivia, Evo Morales, a former coca union leader, found his mass
support base among the country's majority indigenous population, who
felt disenfranchised and marginalized from society. Morales became the
country's first indigenous leader in part by arguing that indigenous
people had the right be different and autonomous, a message that became
as important as the need to combat poverty. In a country where just two
generations ago the capital's main square was reserved for whites,
Morales' pledge to reverse the legacy of centuries of discrimination
perpetuated by the white elite was a powerful message that marked his
unique, radical brand of populism.

Chávez's version of
populism -- Bolivarianism -- is a loose, diffuse and vague mixture of
ideologies drawn from the teachings of Simon Bolivar (the 19th-century
independence hero), revolutionary Marxism, socialism, nationalism,
militarism and some borrowings from Castroism. Bolivarianism is "an
effort to revive Bolivar's dream of the integration of South America,
with an emphasis also on the need for social justice in the region,"
explains Professor Cynthia McClintock, a Latin America specialist at
George Washington University.

Morales and Correa share an
affinity and mutual respect with Chávez, the self-appointed standard
bearer of the new populist left. These Andean leaders all rose to power
on an anti-neoliberal platform, and they project themselves as staunch
defenders of the excluded in society. They also all rely on the mass
support of new social movements that have emerged since the late 1980s,
such as Ecuador's Pachakutik party -- the political wing of the
country's powerful indigenous organization, CONAIE. They also share a
desire for greater autonomy from the U.S. economy and global financial
institutions, and regard Washington's involvement in the region with
mistrust.

Perhaps the most striking thing these Andean leaders
have in common is that they have all tried to spearhead change through
wide-ranging constitutional reform submitted to referendums, in the
hopes of consolidating their power and that of the executive branch of
government. Chávez failed in his attempt two years ago to overhaul
Venezuela's constitution, which would have allowed, among other things,
his indefinite re-election. But Ecuador's Correa last year won 64
percent of the vote in a referendum on constitutional reform that
increased his powers and control over the economy. Morales, who has
encountered at times violent opposition from wealthy landowners and
business leaders in the eastern province of Santa Cruz, has also opted
to write a new constitution, aimed at fully recognizing the rights of
the indigenous majority and giving them more power. The outcome of that
referendum will be decided in late January.

Morales and Chávez
-- and to a lesser extent, Correa -- pepper their speeches with vocal
defiance of the United States and calls for greater sovereignty.
Morales has expressed his disapproval of Washington's war on drugs --
characterized by coca eradication campaigns -- in Bolivia, which he
sees as gross U.S. intervention in the country's internal affairs. He
argues that U.S. aid to Bolivia, the poorest nation in South America,
has been unfairly tied to the results of the anti-drug campaigns. Last
year, Morales suspended the operations of the U.S. Drug Enforcement
Agency (DEA) in Bolivia, which he accused of inciting anti-government
protests. The move was promptly supported by Chávez and Correa.
Meanwhile, Chávez has long accused Washington of being involved in a
short-lived coup in Venezuela in 2002 that tried -- and failed -- to
oust him from power.

Chávez, Correa and Morales all believe
that increased state control and regulation of the country's natural
resources is the best way to redistribute wealth from the elites to the
poor. They have claimed to be vindicated in their approach in the wake
of the global financial crisis and collapse of giant banks in the
United States, with Chávez blaming the crisis on the lack of government
control and regulation in capitalist economies.

The Andean
leaders have also all sought to renegotiate the terms under which
foreign companies extract their country's natural resources to ensure
that the state receives a greater share of the profits. Nationalization
is used as a tool by which to recover resources that they believe have
been unfairly appropriated by foreign mining and oil companies for
decades. Chávez, for instance, has nationalized the oil industry and
increased the amount of royalties foreign oil companies must pay for
the right to exploit Venezuela's reserves. In 2006, Morales issued a
decree giving the state control over the operations of foreign energy
companies, including the country's important gas sector.

But if
Chávez, Morales and Correa have become close allies who often display a
united front when it comes to disputes with the U.S. and/or Colombia,
they do not represent a coherent movement. For all the beliefs they
share in principle, their priorities and versions of the populist left
differ in practice. So while Ecuador has called on Chávez's support
when embroiled in diplomatic rows with Colombia, and Chávez and Correa
rallied around Morales when he expelled the U.S. ambassador to Bolivia
last year, this does not mean that Correa and Morales want to push
ahead with Bolivarianism in their own countries, or follow too closely
in Chávez's footsteps. Correa, in particular, is keen not to be seen as
a puppet of Chávez, an accusation his critics often make. "They share
the goal of a greater emphasis on poverty reduction and the inclusion
of darker-skinned peoples, but the movement is not fully coherent. Evo
Morales is closer to Chávez than Correa, and the allegiance of both
Morales and Correa is linked to Chávez's aid," explains Professor
McClintock.

The limits of Bolivarianism . . .

The
Bolivarian revolution, which according to Chávez is now entering its
third phase of "21st century socialism," belongs squarely to Chávez and
is unique to Venezuela. And while strands of Bolivarianism can be seen
in Bolivia and Ecuador, Chávez's all-encompassing movement can not be
replicated outside of Venezuela, primarily because it is built around a
cult of personality, inextricably linked and identified with Chávez,
who appears increasingly to make all the decisions.

As
importantly, Bolivarianism is also dependent on oil profits. Chávez's
populism, and in turn popularity, depends largely on social spending
sprees backed by rising oil prices, a luxury Bolivia's and Ecuador's
more modest energy sectors do not allow them. "Chávez is the leader of
a petro-state and has many more resources to play with, which the
others don't," says Daniel Hellinger, a professor of political science
at Webster University. Neither Morales nor Correa can rely on the vast
influx of oil wealth that Chávez uses to broker power and fund social
projects. Nor are they able to use their country's natural resources as
a geopolitical tool to push ahead with South American integration and
form alliances with other countries, as Chávez has adeptly managed to
do over the years.

Indeed, for all of Correa's anti-American
rhetoric, including his threats to close a U.S. military base in
Ecuador and his refusal to sign an unpopular free trade agreement with
Washington, Ecuador depends on U.S. investment and loans, and its
official currency is the U.S. dollar. This may explain why Correa, who
has a doctorate from the University of Illinois, has recently distanced
himself from Chávez and Morales, and why he does not allow strained
relations with the United States to go to the brink. He has also
declined to be a full member state of the Chávez-led initiative, the
Bolivarian Alternative for the Americas (ALBA), which aims to promote
hemispheric integration and counter U.S.-advocated free trade
agreements. "Correa is the most pragmatic of the three," believes
Professor Hellinger.

While Chávez, Correa and Morales all
champion social justice, they came to power on the backs of different
social movements, which has led each leader to focus on different
priorities. Morales latched onto an existing, powerful movement -- the
coca growers union -- and made its cause his own. The passionate
defense of indigenous peoples has subsequently become his trademark,
and his policies are centered on rectifying centuries of colonialism in
order to reinstate indigenous rule. Morales's priority is pushing ahead
with a "land revolution" that aims to expropriate up to one-fifth of
the country's land and redistribute it to around 2.5 million landless
poor. He has pledged to move towards his own version of development, a
three-tiered Andean capitalism comprised of modern industry (gas
production), urban trade and traditional framing.

By contrast,
Chávez created a movement around his own persona and promptly filled it
with partisans, including loyal army generals. His Bolivarianism
revolution goes far beyond trade deals, attempting to impact the
cultural and social aspects of peoples' lives as well -- from what
families watch on television, to the type of history children study at
school. This grandiose vision of nation-building centers around
establishing a sense of civic virtue and national pride. To counter
what he believes is encroaching American cultural imperialism, as
reflected in Venezuelans' thirst for U.S.-style shopping malls and
consumerism, Chávez hopes to create a strong Latin cultural identity.
This is not part of Morales' or Correa's discourse or vision.

In
addition, Chávez's notion of "participatory democracy," aimed at
getting citizens more closely involved in decisions affecting their
community, is not found in Bolivia or Ecuador. Modeled on the Cuban
system, Chávez has introduced thousands of Bolivarian circles and
grassroots communal councils that operate like open assemblies in local
neighborhoods to promote civic mobilization.

The tide of
leftist leaders in Latin America has not resulted in a consensus over
how to define the roles of the state, the market and society. Chávez
came to power determined to expand the state's power and fundamentally
change its relationship with society. Other leaders -- such as Brazil's
Lula and, to a lesser extent, Correa -- have decided, or perhaps
resigned themselves, to instead try to make the status quo work more
effectively in the interests of the poor. In practice, that means being
open to free-market systems and allowing some neoliberal policies to
play a part in social reform and development.

The question of
whether or not Chávez's project for a "21st century socialism" will
ultimately be taken up with greater fervor in Ecuador and Bolivia, or
subsequently spread elsewhere in the region, is preceded by the
question of whether Bolivarianism will even survive in the long term.
While the Venezuelan government claims that Chávez's project is
stronger than ever, to more objective observers, it is beginning to
look overstretched, and both Chávez's popularity and grip on power are
waning. The most glaring evidence of this was his defeat two years ago
in the referendum on the new constitution, which demonstrated that
Venezuelans do not want to see Chávez perpetuate his rule. In recent
regional elections, too, an increasingly unified opposition managed to
win several governorships and the important mayoralty of Caracas.

Bolivarianism's
long-term chances for survival as a social and economic alternative to
neoliberalism are also closely linked to the price of oil. Chávez's
social projects have been possible because, for most of his tenure, the
Venezuelan leader has been the beneficiary of an oil bonanza. When he
came to power in 1998, the price of oil was roughly $25 a barrel; by
last year, it had skyrocketed to $147 a barrel. Today it is hovering
between $40 and $50 a barrel, and economists forecast that this figure
is unlikely to rise much higher in 2009. Oil accounts for about a third
of Venezuela's GDP and some 80 percent of the country's total export
revenues. Questions have been raised about the efficiency and capacity
of PDVSA, the Venezuelan state oil company, following years of what
industry experts consider insufficient investment in infrastructure and
exploration for new reserves.

Populism, too, is often fickle.
Chávez -- like Morales and Correa -- is a product, as well as an agent,
of history and change, and the very people who elevated him to power
can also sweep him away. In some ways, participatory democracy has
raised Venezuelans' expectations, amid growing concerns about rampant
crime, sporadic food shortages and double-digit inflation rates.

In
all likelihood, the appeal of Chávez's brand of popular socialism and
his Bolivarian project has limited prospects for spreading, and the
notion that he can drive the region towards his version of the populist
left has been vastly overblown. For one thing, few regional leaders see
Chávez's model as a credible blueprint to follow. So while Chávez grabs
headlines with his foreign tours and often entertaining soundbites, he
"does not speak for Latin America," as German Chancellor Angela Merkel
once pointed out.

Also, his regional influence is largely
dependent on bartering oil or selling it cheaply through preferential
trade deals such as PetroCaribe. This helps to explain why in practice
most governments exhibit a pragmatic stance towards Venezuela,
accepting attractive trade deals without necessarily endorsing Chávez's
agenda and vision of development.

The rivalry with Brazil . . .

Venezuelans
have certainly benefited from Chavez's social programs in many
significant ways. The proportion of the population living below the
poverty level has been reduced from roughly half to a third, and access
to healthcare and education has been dramatically increased. But there
is much debate among analysts regarding the extent to which Chávez has
delivered real improvements in terms of social equality and mobility.
Michael Reid, author and Americas editor at the Economist, argues that
the Chávez model is fundamentally based on clientism and nepotism,
perpetuating dependence on state patronage rather than promoting
broad-based development. As such, it is unsustainable in the long run,
and only satisfies a short-term popular demand for social spending.

The
model of development put forward by the open-minded and reformist left,
as Casteñada calls it, is more likely to offer a sustainable model of
development for others to follow. Chile and Brazil, for instance,
continue to court foreign investment and are willing to incorporate
elements of neoliberalism and free-market policies, while still putting
social reform at the center of government policy. As a result, many
analysts argue that these countries have delivered better results in
alleviating poverty. For instance, social programs adopted by Brazil to
tackle poverty -- such as the acclaimed Bolsa Familia
program, which gives small stipends to families on the condition that
they send their children to school -- have attracted international
recognition. Such bottom-up initiatives are seen as more sustainable
than Chávez's top-down welfare programs.

Chávez has also had
trouble competing with Brazil's size and economic clout -- it is the
largest economy in the region -- combined with Lula's growing
assertiveness on the international stage. And Mercosur, the region's
largest trading bloc -- which is led by Brazil (and of which Venezuela
is not a member) -- has shown itself to be a much more powerful
organization than Chávez's ALBA group. Neither reality is likely to
change in the future.

Nevertheless, there is an emerging
consensus that Washington will have to revise its approach to
engagement with South America as a whole, and in particular with
Morales and Chávez, if it stands a real chance of reversing its
declining influence in the region. Forging a new, multilateral approach
to South America based on acknowledging the legitimacy of both of the
left-wing currents that pervade the region's political landscape is
regarded by many policy analysts as the best basis on which to
formulate U.S. policy in the region.

There are strong
incentives for the U.S. to improve its relations with Venezuela.
Roughly 15 percent of oil imports to the U.S. come from Venezuela.
Conversely, the U.S. remains Venezuela's most important oil trading
partner. But in the past, Washington's posture towards Caracas has
alternated between passive indifference and hostility, with Chávez
regarded as a destabilizing force in Latin America. A stance that is
both more consistent and more coherent is needed.

The first
significant shift in the U.S. approach towards Latin America is likely
to involve Cuba rather than Venezuela. But lifting the U.S. embargo on
Cuba, as well as loosening travel and remittance restrictions, would
send positive signals to Chávez, its close ally.

A real
concern for social reform would also help repair Washington's poor
image in the region. A recent report by the Council on Foreign
Relations has identified four core issues -- poverty and inequality,
public security, migration and energy security -- around which a
multilateral relationship should be built. According to Professor
McClintock, the United States needs to "show real respect for Latin
American leaders and peoples and put greater emphasis in U.S. policy on
the need for social justice." The Brookings Institution advocates the
creation of the Americas Eight (A-8), a hemispheric steering group
designed to build partnerships and establish issue-specific networks.

Should
the U.S. engage with Chávez and, more broadly, the populist left, the
emerging consensus is that this engagement should come through
multilateral institutions, such as the proposed A-8 and other existing
hemispheric bodies, including the Organization of American States
(OAS). The Summit of the Americas, a gathering of 34 OAS heads of state
hosted by Trinidad and Tobago in April, could be an ideal opportunity
for President-elect Obama to usher in a new, multilateral approach to
the region, and perhaps even to make overtures to Chávez.

The
resurgence of the South American left has brought irreversible trends
and changes to the continent, often breaking the age-old dominance of
ruling parties. Last year, in Paraguay, the ascension of Fernando Lugo,
a former priest, marked the end of six decades of rule by the Colorado
party, while the arrival of Chávez eliminated Venezuela's two-party
system, which had dominated the country's political scene for decades.
As a result, the plight of the poor and social reform has now become
part of the mainstream political discourse across most of Latin
America. New movements as well as new forms of social mobilization have
been unleashed that can not be undone, and are likely to continue to
impact the political agenda and shape the fortunes of political parties
well into the future.

Despite its excesses and shortcomings,
the populist left has offered many previously excluded citizens in
Venezuela, Bolivia and Ecuador a greater stake in their country's
future. It is this defining social experience that perhaps gives the
movement whatever coherence it has. In order for America to regain its
standing in South America, not only among the continent's leaders but
also among its inhabitants, it would do well to place the aspirations
that drive that experience at the heart of its regional policy.

Anastasia Moloney is a Bogotá-based journalist and a World Politics Review contributing editor. She has lectured on U.S. foreign policy in Latin America at the Javeriana University in Bogotá.
Her work about Colombian politics, education, human rights and culture
has appeared in the London Times, the Guardian, the Independent, the
Times Higher Education Supplement and the Times Educational Supplement,
among other publications.

Further

In the vile wake of Charlottesville - those sweaty young white men, pasty faces contorted, screaming, "Blood and Soil!" "Jews Will Not Replace Us!" "Fuck You Faggots!" - what to say? Just this: This is racism, domestic terrorism, pure hate. This is not who we are, and this is not ok. Most vital, those "whose pigmentation matches theirs" must speak "with unflinching clarity (or) we simply amen it... They need white faces speaking directly into their white faces, loudly on behalf of love."

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